


Moonlight

by bugsuit



Series: 100 Prompts - Archer [1]
Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:37:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugsuit/pseuds/bugsuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyril is being a big baby about everything, and Ray is pretty done with things like intimacy - but he's in a good mood, so if a freebie will shut him up, it's not a huge price to pay. (Very brief mention of past canon skeeviness, but if you're in the Archer section at all you probably know what you're doing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight

It’s on a holiday in Thailand, in some shitty beachside hotel room that they’ve been forced to share again because no one else will, that Ray finds Cyril crying.

He’s sitting out on the raised decking with his feet dangling over the sand, he’s got a single bottle of Thai beer so Ray figures he can’t be too shitfaced, and he’s sniffing every so often like a little kid who knows nobody is about to get him a band-aid. It’s kind of pathetic.

It’s also kind of painfully awkward to sit through, so Ray clears his throat.

Cyril jumps like he’s been stung and quickly puts his glasses back on before he turns around, like that’ll hide the streaks on his face.

“Ray! I was just.”

He doesn’t have a finisher for that line, so it just stops there. Ray waits.

Cyril sighs. “You want a beer?” It’s after a gesture with the bottle that Ray realises that yes, actually, Cyril bought a case of six – it’s been shoved under a deckchair, and there are four missing. Ray knows that’s enough for Cyril, if he’s been drinking back to back.

So he says, “Yeah, why not?” like he’s in a good mood and hasn’t noticed that Cyril was crying, and he fishes around under the chair for a bottle and sits with it between his knees, and then Cyril hands him a bottle-opener and it’s probably all downhill from there.

They sit and stare out at the beach. There’s the smoking remains of Archer’s _sweet beach inferno, do you guys see this?_ spitting cinders up into the night, and they both watch those rise up on the current because the only other thing to focus on is the moon. Neither of them wants to look at that, because sitting on a deck and looking at the moon is a cliché they’d both rather avoid for the time being.

Somebody is going to have to break the silence. It’s awkward as hell just sitting there, and Cyril’s not quite drunk enough not to notice, but just buzzed enough not to realise something needs to be done. He swirls the beer around in the bottle so that it makes a little whirlpool and watches the liquid settle. Ray takes this as his cue.

“So what’s the deal, Cyril? You don’t look so hot.”

Cyril tries to discreetly reach up and touch his face, and it’s only now he registers how obvious it is, because his hand comes away wet. “Archer and Lana,” he says, and Ray just barely manages not to tut. “On the beach. Over there.”

He points. It’s annoyingly specific, and Ray most certainly does not acknowledge the fact that there’s a visible dip in the sand.

“What – tonight?”

“Two hours ago,” he slurs, and takes a swig from his beer. “Under the moonlight. All romantic and… _sandy.”_

Ray makes a noise. “You watched, didn’t you.”

“What? No!” He sounds just indignant enough to be telling the truth this time, so Ray lets it slide. “I – they started kissing and I went inside. Then I waited until I heard them go back to their room, and I… It’s a nice night. I’m not gonna let them ruin it,” he declares bravely, and takes a long drink. The bottle makes a _thunk_ noise when he takes his lips off it. “They can’t ruin _my_ holiday.”

Ray makes a start on his own beer. The crack-hiss of the bottle being opened seems to make Cyril flinch, and Ray once more laments that one time he was swapped out for such a pansy-ass. He drinks his beer slowly, because he has no intention of actually getting drunk. There’s work to do in the morning, and Cyril isn’t involved, so he can finish the rest of the damn case himself.

“I was gonna take Lana here,” Cyril says quietly, and the edges of his words are blurring into each other a lot more now that he’s realised Ray already knows he’s drunk. “I was gonna take her to a hotel just on the other side of the island. An’ then we were gonna screw on the beach under the moonlight.”

“Dukes.”

 _“Dukes,”_ Cyril confirms, in that wobbly, underconfident tone of his, and finishes his beer.

Ray isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing. It’s a testament to his patience that he hasn’t left yet, because he’s pretty sure anyone else would have.

Except that’s a really bitchy way of thinking about it, and Ray just doesn’t feel bitchy enough tonight. He’s here because Cyril really needs someone to listen. It’s not much more than that.

“Would you fuck me?” Cyril asks plaintively, like he planned on approaching the subject more delicately but the alcohol didn’t let him.

“Theoretically, or are you really asking?”

Cyril goes quiet and mulls this over for a good minute. Ray almost thinks he might have decided against answering, but finally, it comes: “Either.”

Ray takes a deep, silent breath to prepare for what he’s about to say, and deliberately doesn’t look at him. “You’re cute, Cyril. You’re not unfuckable.” But Cyril already knows that, because Cyril can and _has_ had it with a whole lot of women. So Ray gives him the answer he wants to hear. “I’d probably do it, yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“But not tonight.”

“Yeah,” Cyril says, in a high and wavering tone that suggests he’d been about to ask, and Ray takes a drink.

He waits until the taste of hops has faded a little bit, and then he glances sidelong at the man to his left.

Cyril is sort of soft-looking, he decides. In the moonlight he’s even softer, and maybe if they met in a bar and not at work with their colleagues and their history and the stained office, Ray _might_ do the shit out of him. If he asked nicely.

“You ever done it with a guy, Cyril?” Ray asks, innocently enough.

Cyril frowns at him, and Ray suddenly realises it’s an accusing look.

“No, okay. Let’s not go there. I meant aside from that.” Just because Cyril doesn’t remember that time in the bathroom doesn’t mean Ray gets off scot-free. But they’re past it. Sort of. “I mean while you were conscious. And _damn,_ that sounds… Just answer the question, Cyril.”

“I’m over it, shut up,” Cyril declares firmly, and Ray figures he probably means it, because there are a lot of things he _isn’t_ over and he never lets anyone forget it. His word is pretty much kosher, then. “And, no. No, I… haven’t.”

Ray makes a _pshh_ noise. “Straight as an arrow.”

“That doesn’t mean – lack of experience doesn’t mean I don’t want to try it!” Cyril whines. “You don’t know!”

“Yeah, and neither do you, so…”

“So you should help me find out!”

Ray sighs heavily, wishing he’d brought his cigarettes out onto the deck. He can’t go fetch them now. The conversation is still happening, and apparently it’s important to Cyril. The man is _obsessed_ with closure, which is a dumb thing to want when you work at ISIS. Closure is a rare commodity.

“Cyril-“

 _“Ray,”_ Cyril grates out, and when Ray looks at him, his face is pleading. _“C’mon._ Please?”

“You’re not gonna die if I don’t fuck you right this second, Cyril.”

“You don’t know that either! Maybe there’s some hidden depth to this – this sex addiction thing, maybe I’ll drop dead. You don’t know,” he repeats. At this point, he’s being deliberately childish, and Ray sets his beer down.

“Cyril,” he says decisively, “look at me.”

“You don’t know jack shit,” Cyril continues mumbling.

Ray snaps his fingers loudly. Cyril automatically looks round at the sudden noise, and Ray takes Cyril’s face in his hands and leans in to kiss him.

His face is soft and tipsy-warm, and Ray’s thumbs smooth over his cheeks. Cyril hums, low and interested, and Ray is relieved to find that he reacted fast enough to allow for tongue straight away. Neither of them wants this to be cute and chaste. That would be too personal.

Cyril tastes like beer and a little bit of salt – whether it’s the sea air or maybe _tears,_ Ray doesn’t care to guess. He’d rather not think about it too hard.

What surprises Ray is how quickly Cyril gets into it, even though he probably should have expected it. Before he can pull away, a soft hand rests on the back of his neck and holds him there a few seconds longer. Cyril tilts his head a little further and Ray’s teeth graze his lip.

When they part, Cyril is flushed and his glasses are a little bit askew, and Ray can’t help but be a little disappointed that he’s already made a rule not to fuck this guy tonight. But a rule is a rule. He already took advantage once, and Cyril is pretty drunk.

Ray turns back to watch the beach, swiping up his beer and drinking it down with a little more commitment than before.

Cyril meekly sets his glasses straight, and a tiny smile blooms on his face. When he speaks, his voice is shakier than his hands. “You’re a really good kisser.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.” Cyril wasn’t so bad himself, but Ray is in no mood to say so.

“You think-“

“You’re _welcome,_ Cyril,” Ray says firmly, and that’s the end of it.

They keep drinking. The fire on the beach is too dead by now to provide anything to stare at, so they stare up at the moon instead, because it’s not weird any more seeing as they just kissed. The awkward line has been crossed already.

Ray has work to do in the morning, so he stands up once he’s finished his beer.

“If you’re gonna do what you always do and jack off, do it where I can’t hear you.”

 _“What?_ I don’t do that…” He’s the second worst liar Ray knows (beaten only by Krieger) and he’s probably going to do it anyway.

“Hotel bathroom, every darned time we share a room. A discreet jacker you are _not.”_ He makes his way inside, and pulls the screen door shut behind him.

Cyril scoffs and turns his attention back to his drink. _“Gotta_ ruin it,” he breathes. “Stupid Ray.”

He feels better, though. And gayer. A little bit gayer than usual. He’s not so hung up on that.


End file.
